New Blood
by BonkUppercut
Summary: When the Respawn Machine finally breaks, Redmond and Blutarch decide it's time to find mercenaries a little bit... younger. ((Formerly titled Teen Fortress 2))
1. Chapter 1: The Scout

Teen Fortress 2

Chapter One: The Scout

((Author's Note: After this story was written, I approached a fellow author, named VanguardShores, and we decided this story would be a sequel to her story "Don't Make Me Leave, Please?", which can be found here: s/9444092/1/Don-t-Make-Me-Leave-Please .))

The air crackled with tension. A million eyes were on Nate- or at least it felt that way. He simply had to make this last run. And if he didn't, the team would beat the daylights out of him, not to mention his brothers…. No. That wasn't a possibility. At least now he'd get a little respect. He could see it. The pitcher's arm tensed up, and…

Before he had a chance to swing with all his might, a well-dressed, handsome man with a bushy mustache carrying a brick red briefcase strolled onto the field, as if this were any other day. The batter, furious with the nerve of this guy, dashed with incredible speed and grabbed the man by the shoulder. "Who do you think you are, just coming in here like you're some sort of-" he managed to burst out, before the mysterious man clamped a firm hand over the batter's mouth. "Well, well!" clucked the man. "If it isn't feisty little Nathan Mercury. I'm sorry to interrupt your _incredibly_ important Little League game, but I've been looking for you. And thanks for showing me that dash of yours. I was worried that it was a myth… No matter. I need you to do me a favor. It'll be worth your while. In fact, if you agree, you'll be receiving, in cold, hard cash, a sum of…" The man paused, then bent over and whispered in Nate's ear. Nate's eyes practically bugged out of his head, but he regained his composure and nodded enthusiastically.

Two hours later….

Nate was riding in a black limousine with his window opened, the chilly wind nipping at his face. The man had introduced himself as Redmond Mann, but hadn't said much else. They had taken several obscure backstreets, and were now cruising at a steady pace through the Massachusetts wilderness. Nate opened his mouth to say something- _anything- _but the words seemed to die in his throat, only adding to the awkward silence. Finally, Redmond eased up on the gas pedal, allowing the car to come to a gentle stop on the side of the backstreet. "Do you know why I've brought you here?" Redmond asked, finally breaking the barrier of silence that had been plaguing the ride. Nate tried to say something, but all that came out was a sound that sounded embarrassingly like a squeak. Redmond turned around to face Nate, stroking his mustache eagerly. "I've brought you here because I am the owner of a gravel company named Reliable Excavation and Demolition, or RED."

Nate looked quite confused. "What do I have to do with freakin' gravel? I'm a batter, not a miner!" he demanded.

Redmond furrowed his brow. "Exactly right, Nathan. Do you know that there is another gravel company, this one named Builders League United?"

Nate snorted. "Look, buddy. I don't pay attention to gravel. I pay attention to-"

Redmond clamped a strong hand over Nate's mouth, effectively shutting him up. "Yes, yes. I know. You pay attention to your silly little baseball. Anyway, this company, BLU, happens to be owned by my brother." Redmond paused, as if expecting a response, but his hand was still firmly clamped over Nate's mouth. "I want nothing more than to take over his company. Would you be willing to help me with this?" Redmond asked, finally releasing his grip on Nate.

Nate blinked. "First of all, OUCH. Cut your nails, man. Second of all, I really don't understand what you want with me."

Redmond sighed. "Let me put this in a way your thirteen-year-old mind can comprehend. How'd you like to own a gun?"

Nate's face slowly but surely broke into a grin. "Go on…"


	2. Chapter 2: Good Ol' Engie

Teen Fortress 2

Chapter Two: Good Ol' Engie

The incessant _click-clack_ of Jeremy Horwitz's keyboard was driving his mother crazy. Jeremy knew it for a fact, and he grinned as he pictured his mother with cotton balls stuffed in her ears. Jeremy was a fifteen-year-old dual-enrolled student, testing at the genius level in everything from math to history, but at long last it was summer break and Jeremy could finally relax. However, he continued practicing his favorite hobby, computer programming. Jeremy grinned, as his screen filled with lines of code, zeroes and ones that danced their way through his glasses and into his brain. His fingers, however, were one step ahead, sending out code of their own that tangoed with the code on the screen, as new lines continued to scroll their way down. Jeremy was so close, on the verge of cracking this last firewall, the final barrier between him and all the classified data of his community college, the files not even the teachers could see…

Suddenly, three quick knuckle raps on the door broke Jeremy's concentration, and the zeroes and ones were replaced by a flashing message: ACCESS DENIED. He'd been too slow… He shut down his computer and buried his face in his hands. His mother let herself in, approaching Jeremy in a concerned manner. She carefully balanced a plate of pulled pork sandwiches in one hand and an oversized thermometer in the other. Sure enough, two telltale balls of cotton protruded from her ears, but that didn't stop the flurry of questions pouring from Mrs. Horwitz's mouth. "Jeremiah! What in tarnation is wrong? D'you have a fever again? Ah told ya to get away from that ruddy screen! Get outside, boy! And for heaven's sake, eat a sandwich! You ain't starvin' to death while I'm around!" she chastised him a little too loudly.

"Ma, I've told ya! My name is Jeremy, not bloody Jeremiah!" Jeremy whined.

"WHAT?" his mother shouted a little louder than she intended, trying to tug the cotton balls out of her ears. The conversation was decidedly one-sided, and Jeremy finally gave up. He grabbed his laptop in one hand and the plate of barbeque in the other, and headed outside to feed the cattle. He set the plate down on the kitchen counter as he walked , but not before snatching one and taking a greedy bite out of it, letting the juices roll out over his tongue. If there was one thing his mother understood, it was how to make barbecue. His dad, however, was the greatest barbecue chef this side of Texas… before he died. His laptop tucked in the crook of his elbow, Jeremy abruptly picked up his pace, trying so hard to block out the memories of his father that he didn't realize he was going the wrong direction until he bumped into the family car, which was perched in the driveway. Except… there was another car next to it…. a black limousine, to be precise.

Suddenly, a young teenager, still clothed in full baseball garb, rolled down one of the limo's windows and tossed a very sharp-looking wrench to Jeremy, who caught it and still managed to keep his grip on his laptop. "Yo! Four-eyes! Grab your crap and let's move! We got killin' to do!" shouted Jeremy's new teammate, Nathan Mercury.


	3. Chapter 3: Frontier Justice

Teen Fortress 2

Chapter 3: Frontier Justice

((Author's Note: Although this is just a filler chapter, there is a reason for that! Due to outstanding viewer feedback, I've decided to let the audience have some input! Which class should I do next? What should their backstory be? Their weapons? Their age (between 13 and 19, of course)? Whatever you like! Let me know in the comments!))

Jeremy tucked the wrench into his overalls pocket, eyeing the limo with a mixture of wonder and puzzlement. Nate leaned out the window again, this time brandishing an overly large sawn-off shotgun.

"Hey overalls, you deaf or somethin'? Get in the limo!"

Jeremy blinked, startled. "Uh, watch where you're pointin' that, string-bean. I don't know you, and I never want to. This your limo?"

Nathan scoffed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yeah, I'm totally a multibillionaire who can afford to drive around the country in his own private limo and pick up random computer jockeys!"

Jeremy, slightly offended, reluctantly closed up his laptop. "Listen up, cause I'm only gonna say this once. Get the hell off my ranch."

Nathan swung the door open, stepping out with his shotgun strapped to his belt. "No way, overalls. Boss, this is your cue."

Redmond stepped out of the driver's seat, again carrying that brick red briefcase. He extended a massive hand toward Jeremy. "Redmond Mann. It's a pleasure."

Jeremy shook his hand. "Jeremy Horwitz. Glad to see you have more manners than your little friend here."

Nathan shouted "Hey!" but Redmond silenced him. "Ah, yes. Nathan has agreed to become a mercenary, and I hope that you will do the same."

Jeremy scratched his head. "Ain't the two o' us a li'l… young for that?"

Redmond sighed. "In my experience, no one is too young for anything, especially when cash is involved. Although I used to have a highly trained team of adults, my brother and I had our mainframes hacked by an unknown party, and the machines that sustained my soldiers were put out of commission until I repaired them. I daresay the same fate befell my brother. Although the mercenaries were still alive, their information had been permanently removed from the database. I could have just put them back in, but their usefulness was wearing out. I needed new blood. So you two and seven others will take their place. Do you understand, Jeremy? You will be an immortal warrior. My machines make permanent death impossible. If you were to die in my service, seconds after your death, you would emerge from your machine unharmed, intact, and battle-ready. This is the chance of a lifetime."

"What about my Ma?" Jeremy asked concernedly.

"Your mother has known about this for a year. I have provided her with what she absolutely needs to know, and nothing more."

Jeremy stared at Redmond, his mouth hanging slightly ajar. "Hang on," he blurted, sprinting into a nearby shed all of a sudden.

Nathan laughed aloud. "Told ya he wasn't tough enough. Admit it, boss. This four-eyed dweeb ain't gonna cut it!"

Redmond stroked his mustache in silence.

Suddenly, the door to the shed sprouted a hole that looked suspiciously like a shotgun bullet, creaking on its rusty hinges and finally falling to the ground with an earsplitting BANG! Jeremy stood in the empty doorframe, clutching an enormous pump-action shotgun with the name 'Frontier Justice' crudely painted in red on the side of the barrel, and wearing a wide grin. He turned to Nathan, reloading the gun. "I'm just going to pretend I didn't hear that. Thank me some other time!" Now he turned to Redmond himself, putting the shotgun into the backseat of the limo. "I'm in. One question, though. What happened to those mercenaries? The ones whose data got erased?"

Redmond kept his face a mask of casual indifference. "None of your business, Jeremy. Now, if that shotgun and laptop are all you're taking, then let's get mov-"

Jeremy didn't stick around to hear the rest. He disappeared into the shed and retrieved a banged-up old acoustic guitar. "I reckon that there does it! Let's get moving, boss!"

((Author's Note: Remember, I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments! Also, if you really want to know what happened to the original mercenaries, check out the story Don't Make Me Leave, Please. I guarantee you'll be in for a hell of a ride!

-Bonk

PS: I am a robot. Beep boop. Feliz navidad. Hasta gazpacho. ))


	4. Chapter 4: The Truth, Revealed?

Chapter 4: The Truth, Revealed?!

((Author's Note: Hey, everyone! Bonk here! As you may have noticed, NEW TITLE! Thanks to LilyRosetheDreamer for suggesting it. Didn't want my story to be confused with that trollfic TEEN FORTRESS 2 by MarissaTheWriter, dear God that story is awful. See ya, and enjoy my fanfiction based on everyone's favorite war-themed hat simulator!

-Bonk))

The ride was surprisingly long, although that's to be expected when you're traipsing across the United States. Nathan had finally hit a wall. Of course, his energy had been running on borrowed time for at least three days. In the excitement of becoming a mercenary, he forgot to refuel himself with caffeine and as such completely crashed during the ride. Splayed out over two seats, he cradled his shotgun as he slept, snoring loudly and annoying the crap out of Jeremy. There was a reinforced glass barrier separating Redmond from the two teens, so Redmond was oblivious to Nathan's annoying sleep habits.

Jeremy sighed in defeat, deciding he'd just have to put up with Nathan for the time being. He unfolded his laptop and opened his machine blueprint files, reviewing them intently. There were all sorts of designs: guns, turrets, medical machines, ammo dispensers, even teleporters, but none of them were functional. All of them were missing one crucial component that Jeremy puzzled over day in and day out, trying to figure out exactly how he could make these work. He straightened up in his seat, the gears turning relentlessly in his head. He was so deep in thought, he almost didn't notice his overalls catch on an obscure clasp under his seat. Jeremy bent down, groping for the object, until his hand came to rest on something cold and metal. Jeremy's fingers closed around it, hesitating for a moment before tugging it free. It was a small rectangular box, with a strange yet intricate code carved on it. It read _- - / - -.- / .-. . .-. .-.. .- -.-. . - . -. -,_ and Jeremy easily recognized it. In that instant, Jeremy knew it was meant for him. He traced the line of code with his finger, decoding it out loud. "To… my… replacement."

The instant the last word left his mouth, the box unfolded all by itself, whirring and clicking endlessly and moving its surfaces automatically. By the time it had finished, the box was no longer a box. It was a USB flash drive. Jeremy weighed it in his hands, trying to imagine the amazing work that went into creating it. It must have been his successor on the RED team, Jeremy decided. And Jeremy was nowhere near his level of intelligence. Without further ado, Jeremy plugged in the drive.

Instantly his laptop whirred to life. His screen flashed white, and blood-red characters scrolled across it in quick succession.

-.- / -. .- - . / .. ... / -.. . .-.. .-.. / -.-. - -. .- -. ... . .-.

.. ..-. / -.- - ..- / .- .-. . / .-. . .- -.. .. -. -. / - ... .. ... / .. / .- - / -.. . .- -..

_.-. . ... .-. .- .- -. / -. . ...- . .-. / -... .-. - -.- ._

_... . -.- / -.- .. .-.. .-.. . -.. / ..- ... / .- .-.. .-.. / - -. / .-. ..- .-. .-. - ... ._

_.. - / .- .- ... / - ..- .-. -.. . .-._

Jeremy gasped in horror. This was impossible! ((And if you want to know exactly what was impossible, translate it yourself! Mwahaha! It's Morse code, for those of you who don't recognize it.))

"Bwuh?" Nathan mumbled, a string of drool hanging from his slightly ajar mouth. He straightened up in his seat, wiping off his mouth with the sleeve of his mesh jersey. He yawned before continuing, "What the hell you talkin' about, four-eyes?"

Jeremy tried his best to explain, but no words would come. So instead, he turned his laptop so Nathan could get a clear view.

Nathan's palm swiftly attached itself to his face. "A buncha dots 'n lines! You woke me up for THIS crap?" He sighed. "Then again, what the hell was I expectin'? Whatever the hell ya wake me up for next, it better be ACTUAL WORDS. You get that in that head of yours, four-eyes?"

Jeremy wanted to smack Nathan with his wrench so hard, they'd have to glue his skull back together. But that wouldn't do, for if Jeremy correctly understood social convention, killing a teammate tended to be frowned upon. So instead he just pressed the laptop lid down. Nathan was fidgeting with his chair, trying to force it to lean backward. Checking to make sure Nathan wasn't watching, Jeremy opened the laptop back up, shaking it in frustration like a child who'd just been denied a toy.

"I need to know more, Dell!" he shouted as quietly as humanly possible. As if the flash drive had heard him, an on-screen notification informed Jeremy that all files were being uploaded. Nathan was still kicking the chair, clutching his foot and swearing so loudly even Redmond turned around to see what all the commotion was about. Deciding it was safe for now, Jeremy opened the first file, titled FROM DELL.

It was blank, save for a few sentences. Not in code this time, either. It simply read:

I CAN HEAR YOU, JEREMY.

I HAVE NEWS.

AND IT'S NOT GOOD.

IT'S A TRAP.

RUN WHILE YOU STILL CAN.

Jeremy gulped, sweat starting to gather on his face. "Uh, string-bean? You wanted real words, you got 'em. Take a look at this," he urged.

Nathan gave up on the unresponsive seat and bent over to peer at the screen. He was silent for a few moments.

Jeremy turned to Nathan, trying to read his expression. "D'you understand? I think this flash drive contains the ghost of my predecessor. He's trying to warn us about something, and I can't figure out what the blazes he's talkin' about. Got any ideas?"

Nathan abruptly turned to Jeremy, clamping his hand on Jeremy's arm so hard that Jeremy was losing circulation. "Is this how you get your sick frickin' kicks?!" he fumed, his face turning an alarming shade of red. "You thought you'd scare me with your supernatural ghost crap?! Well hardee-har-har, IT AIN'T FUNNY! You can take your dumb practical jokes and SHOVE 'EM UP YOUR ASS!" he finished, heaving in anger.

Jeremy pried off Nathan's death grip of a hand and grimaced, not expecting this kind of reaction. "Boy, if I wanted to scare y'all, I woulda-"

Nathan didn't let him finish. "I'm gonna give ya three seconds to shut the hell up. If you don't, I'm gonna show you the REAL meanin' a' scary. And I'm telling ya right now, IT AIN'T PRETTY."

Jeremy shut his mouth, but not before making a mental note that Nathan was afraid of ghosts.


	5. Chapter 5: Soldier's Rampage

Chapter 5: Shadows of the Past, Blood of the Present

((Author's Note: Boom! I'm back, dummy! No, seriously. Thank for all the fan feedback, by the way. As you know, I promised to have the next class chosen by the readers. And the winner is… *epic, overly dramatic drum roll* the Soldier! You can expect to meet him in his chapter, and the next chapter will contain some pretty great stuff. Until then, happy reading, and may you find many Unusuals!

-Bonk))

Samuel Josias was prepared for anything. Except, perhaps, an all-out onslaught of cobalt death. Panting quietly, Sam zipped behind cover just in the nick of time as the dull _thud_ of enemy fire pelted everything around him. Luckily, one of the advantages of staging a war in your backyard was that the terrain was a breeze to navigate. Sam, poking his head for a quick moment, analyzed the situation and found his opening. Taking a slight detour, he stealthily approached the lone sentry from behind. Pressing his gun to the back of the guard's head, he squeezed the trigger before his opponent had a chance to react. The kill was silent, his enemy crumpling to the ground without a sound. Sam took a quick breath, relishing the sound of his deep red paintball finding its mark. Sam had specifically made a rule that players who had been shot couldn't talk, but only so he could hear his enemies getting shot more clearly. The sound was music to his ears. As Sam snuck past the guard he'd taken out, he blew a raspberry at his victim, adding insult to injury.

In response, the collapsed guard kicked Sam in the thigh. It felt like a thousand hammers assaulting his leg at once, but Sam limped forward, a smile of triumph on his face. It was a good day.

Far in the distance, a clap of thunder resonated. Sam hoped it wasn't an omen as he continued to search the area for the enemy's flag. His thigh still stung from the kick, but the pain was dwindling slowly. Turning around a gargantuan elm tree, he found a beaten-up, dingy shack that had seen better days. A _lot_ of better days. _Perfect place for those maggots who call themselves the blue team to hide their flag_, Sam thought as he advanced upon the shed. He couldn't help but have waves of icy cold rocketing up his spine upon realizing there were no enemy guards where there had been just minutes earlier. They had all disappeared, and as far as Sam could figure, he was the last one alive on his team "An obvious decoy. Right?" Sam wondered out loud, not quite trusting what he'd encounter. The rickety shed door seemed a lot bigger now, but Sam steeled himself and yanked open the door.

A pile of bodies. Of all the things that could have been lurking inside the shed, it was a pile of bodies. They were covered from head to toe in blossoms of crimson paint. _Paint,_ Sam thought with a hint of panic, _or blood?_ He thanked his lucky stars that he wasn't on the blue team as he picked his way through the teeming mass of bodies. To his relief they were still bleeding- _breathing_, he corrected himself- and he kept his head on a swivel in case the flag was somewhere in this mess. The sheer number of paintballs must have knocked his competitors unconscious. A lightning-fast movement in the shadows caught his attention, but before Sam had time to react, it was gone as fast as it had come. Perhaps he had imagined it? He stepped forward cautiously, taking a quick peek into the darkness. But what he found defied all logic.

"What the…" Sam stuttered, trying to find the words to describe the situation. A young teen, probably no older than thirteen, held a shotgun- an _actual, double-barreled shotgun_- in one hand and a paintball gun loaded to the brim with deep crimson paint in the other. His somewhat older-looking companion, a nerdy-looking boy in a loose-fitting hard hat, night-vision goggles, and a worn-out pair of overalls, held a flashlight and a blue, slightly torn pennant. The very pennant that Sam had been trying to win the whole time.

The nerdy kid grinned. "Y'all lookin' for this?" he inquired in a heavy Southern accent, holding up the pennant and waving it halfheartedly. He tossed it to Sam, who caught it effortlessly. "Y'all mighty well must be that ruthless son-of-a-gun that mah boss was talkin' about. You might wanna sit down, because we got a whole lotta stuff ta tell ya. But first, ya might wanna know somethin': we switched yer blue gun with a red one while ya weren't lookin', way back at the beginnin' of the match. Ya were on blue the whole time. Yet ya absolutely slaughtered _every single one_ of the blue players anyway_._" The hard-hatted kid leaned in, lowering his voice to little more than a whisper. "What if I told y'all you'd get paid more than ya can count- _for doing basically the exact same thing you just did?"_

Sam, in response, took the blue pennant and tore it into miniscule shreds, then spit on them. He saluted, quavering with excitement. "Yes, sir!"

((Author's Note: Not my best work and not too long either, but I like it. Let me know what you think in the comments! There's going to be a BIG reveal in the next chapter, so look forward to it!

-Bonk))


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